Submission
by Rusty Halos
Summary: Wherein Batman submits to Superman. Or, more accurately, Bruce submits to Clark. Shameless smut and PWP. Now also a part of my Superman/Batman Smut Table 70 prompt challenge. Slash.


**Submission**

Disclaimer: Don't own anything – Rating: M

A/N: This is an explicit slashfic. If you don't like it or can't handle it, please don't read it. This is also a blend of a few different canon characterizations, from the DCAU to various comics.

Now also a part of my Superman/Batman Smut Table 70 prompt challenge. You can read the rest of the table fills at my LiveJournal, linked on my profile page.

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It still touched Bruce, sometimes, how quietly bashful Clark Kent could be underneath the red blue loudness of Superman's uniform.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked again, reflexively moving to push absent glasses up his perfect nose with one finger in a distracted motion that betrayed just how unsure Clark was feeling at the moment.

"Yes," Bruce said, patient for once.

"But what if I hurt you—,"

"You're just going to have to trust that I know what I'm doing," Bruce said, a lot more calmly than he really felt, since, well, he _didn't_ know what he was doing. Quickly, efficiently, he stripped himself of the cape and cowl, then the armor that protected his treacherously rapid heartbeat and the material of his tights. Bare and graceful, he edged into Clark's personal space, crouching above a body hidden underneath a worn flannel quilt that smelled like sun-warmed skin and cheap strong soap, entirely incongruous in the sterile crystalline beauty of the Fortress.

Mesmerized, one of Clark's hands came up to cup Bruce's face, bring his mouth ever closer so that their breaths intermingled in the subdued twilight space between their bodies. Slowly, deliberately, they kissed, peaceful and familiar in a gesture of reassurance and trust that sprang more from years of friendship than this new fledgling heat between them, still untried and as intensely all-consuming as a black hole.

When Bruce leaned back, sleek and unabashed and so beautiful it made Clark want to _possess_, they were both certain of what they would do next. In one smooth motion, Clark pinned his best friend face down against the unforgiving solidity of his bed, bare bodies perfectly aligned against one another. The Kryptonian's hands held Bruce's wrists above his head with an immovable strength that not even the Batman could displace.

The awareness of his sudden helplessness startled a moan out of Bruce, and he arched, every fiber of his body instinctively rebelling against the restraint, his heartbeat ratcheting up even as his mind said _yes, more_. Clark's breath was harsh in his ear, and a tongue flickered out to taste Bruce's skin, the pulse that pounded so vulnerable and hot at the side of his pale neck. His teeth nipped at the skin, hard enough to bruise, exerting the strength that Clark normally would have held back with implacable will, in deference to his bedmate's relative breakability.

Bruce's body moved away from the sharp pain, fighting the heavy weight that mapped his limbs with an obstinacy that formed the core of his character, fighting to exert his own formidable will the way he was so used to.

"Not this time," Clark said, his whisper rough and hot. "No matter how hard you fight, you will submit to me, Bruce."

A surge of delicious panic raced through Bruce's veins, as he acknowledged the absence of every trace of bashfulness Clark had shown earlier. This Clark had all the strength of the alien demigod Superman and none of his benign reserve, all of his power skewed towards something deep and velvety dark instead of the noble pursuit of justice and truth.

"I don't submit," Bruce responded, automatically, and it wasn't a lie in the least. It would be against his nature to submit, not until Clark pushed him to the absolute precipice of sensation and left him no other choice, no other option, but to subsume himself in the face of overwhelming strength.

"We'll see about that," Clark said, softly, as he shifted a hand to stroke up Bruce's side, slow and gentle, running his palm over heavily knotted scars, feeling everything that Bruce _was_ in the slick slide of flesh on flesh, reading his story in the ruined skin. Bruce moved under his touch, trying to find a way to escape, shivering against Clark's palm but still defiant. Clark slid his hand sideways, over the planes of muscle in his chest, then down, over a flat, warm stomach and to the insistent hardness of his cock. Bruce thrust involuntarily into the lax circle of his grip, containing his groan in a harsh sound in his throat.

"Stop that," Clark said. "I want to hear you." Bruce snorted, and Clark knows without looking the mulish expression that was sure to be present in the set of his friend's jaw, the indentation between dark, heavy brows.

Clark simply moved his hand over Bruce, providing just enough pressure to be teasing, but not enough to satisfy, and Bruce, stubbornly silent, shifted against his touch like he wanted to stop himself but _couldn't_, his body already seduced by the intimate glide of Clark's palm against his hot flesh.

"Alright then, Bruce, we'll just do this the hard way."

Clark flipped him over, keeping one hand tight around Bruce's wrists so that his friend's torso was stretched taut, like a feast for his eyes and his mouth, powerfully muscled and achingly beautiful in the dim light of the Fortress. He spread Bruce's legs with an insistent movement of his knee, and knelt between them, letting Bruce lock his strong limbs around his waist with a menacing violence that was remarkably ineffective against Kryptonian invulnerability but that would have crushed pretty much everyone else. Clark only leaned forward, so that their hard cocks were trapped against each other, hot and _so good_, but not his goal. His teeth found the tense juncture of Bruce's neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to draw blood and fill his mouth with the salty, coppery taste of the remarkable life he was keeping prisoner in his bed. Bruce made the smallest of protesting, lustful sounds at the pain of it, as his hips bucked up against Clark's in an involuntary plea. Clark responded, unable to deny anything of the dark, beautiful creature that had managed to insinuate himself into every recess of his lonely heart, bearing down to give Bruce something to thrust against, as their mouths met in a clash of teeth and tongue and violence. Bruce licked his own blood off Clark's lips, and Clark moved his free hand underneath Bruce's body, between his spread legs, setting his thumb against the tightness of his entrance, stroking with the lightest of touches. A shudder swept through the powerful body beneath his, caught between the need to thrust forwards and backwards all at once, distracted by the intensity of the mouth trying to dominate him.

Clark bore down harder with his hips and his thumb, nipping at the tender flesh of Bruce's bottom lip, trying to get Bruce to free all those sounds he was keeping prisoner through sheer stubbornness, determined to make him forget his vaunted control for the smallest fraction of a second. All he needed was that one opening, that one crack, to force Bruce's submission.

Bruce writhed, protesting his manipulation, but Clark only moved to mark the long column of his throat, then the corded muscles in his shoulders and arms, leaving angry red bites and bruises in the wake of his mouth. His thumb continued its movements between Bruce's legs, even as he thrust their cocks languidly together, in a long, liquid slide of taunting pleasure that wasn't quite _enough_.

"Come on, Bruce," Clark said against the thick scar that stretched luridly from sternum to navel. "Let me hear you." His voice was low and even, implacable in his demand.

Bruce tightened his legs around Clark's waist, threw his head back against the bed, and kept silent.

Clark sighed. "Always so stubborn." He caught the slight smirk as it twisted Bruce's swollen lips, defiant and smug.

Nettled despite himself, Clark captured Bruce's mouth again, determined and slightly vengeful, biting and licking even as his body surged forward, imprisoning Bruce so that he couldn't even shift his hips, could only take what Clark deigned to give him, feel what was being done to him without the option of recourse.

Clark could feel the tension in Bruce's muscles, the desperate anger at his inability to move, and would have smiled, dark and deep, if his mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied. He could _feel_ the vibrations of Bruce's throat, as his body struggled to form pleading, broken sounds but his mind, his brilliant, unyielding mind, refused to give in.

Maybe a little, unexpected _push_ would do the trick, Clark thought.

Swiftly, Clark slipped his dry thumb inside the circle of muscle it had been teasing, feeling Bruce's body spasm around him in surprise and slight pain, even as it clutched at his finger and tried to draw him in deeper.

And, _yes, there it was_—Bruce's lips parted, his chest heaved, as a groan shaped his mouth and pushed noise into Clark's, as Clark swallowed down the sound of Bruce's pain and his pleasure with a kind of glee that felt raw and wild.

It was like the breaking of a dam, as noises left Bruce's lips in quick succession, a rush of hapless emotion that had been so carefully guarded pushing out like a tidal wave, drawing Clark deeper, as he took all those broken syllables into his own mouth and savored them, tasting the beginning of Bruce's submission.

He slipped another finger into Bruce's body, knowing that the dry stretch must be painful, but feeling how Bruce's muscles clamped down on him, how he gasped his acquiescence into their kiss. Clark lifted off him slightly, breaking them apart so that he could hear those hard won noises, watch how Bruce arched his hips into Clark's touch, demanding more, pleading for more, even on the knife's edge of pain. His pale, wild blue eyes were shut, long dark lashes a shadow on the marked, beautiful bones of his face, his mouth, much too lush to belong to a man, parted and open in a perfect _o_ as it made half-broken syllables that sounded like pleas and demands all rolled into one.

The Fortress had helpfully supplied a tube of lubricant, and Clark withdrew his fingers, to Bruce's immediate and evident displeasure. His heavy brows drew together as his eyes snapped open, fiery with an arrogance that came from a lifetime of getting what he wanted, all the time. Clark merely smirked at him, reflecting the smug turn of mouth that Bruce had displayed earlier. That only served to incense Bruce, and he writhed hard, arching up against the body that hovered over him so that they were chest to chest, skin hot and perfect as he rubbed them against each other like a huge, graceful panther.

Clark had to bite back a groan of his own, and he glared down at his captive, who looked unbearably proud and hungry all at once.

"So impatient," Clark said, coating his fingers in slick liquid with a deft movement of his hand. "Or desperate," he continued, setting his nose against Bruce's pulse point and inhaling the scent of spicy dark aftershave and the clean sweat of lust. Bruce made a noise of affront that quickly turned into a gasp as Clark slid two long fingers between his legs and into his body, crooking them immediately to find his prostate.

Fire surged up his spine and darkened the icy hue of his eyes as he tried to thrust himself harder onto Clark's fingers, craving the burst of intense raw heat that made the pressure inside him even better, made him feel so full he could explode into a supernova of light. Clark smiled against his throat, adding another finger so that Bruce _burned_, body impatient and greedy for more, trying to attain that perfect angle that Clark had teased him with.

"Tell me what you want, Bruce," Clark crooned, slowly slipping his fingers out so that Bruce felt achingly empty even as the very tips circled his entrance, in an insistent taunt of pleasure that made his breath uneven.

"I would have thought it would be obvious, by now," Bruce said, his voice sounding oddly rusty and hoarse, as if all those sounds he had kept trapped in his throat had eroded away his vocal cords.

"Still coherent," Clark murmured, pressing an oddly tender kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Gotta fix that." Three fingers pushed hard into Bruce all at once, stretching him roughly but shallowly, before quickly withdrawing again, so that Bruce was left with the breath of a cry in his throat and aching, unsatisfied hunger as his body snapped close. Just as Bruce was about to protest, Clark repeated the motion, filling him with just an inch or two of his fingers before quickly moving his hand away, heedless of the movement of Bruce's hips to recapture the feeling. Clark savored the natural resistance of Bruce's body in those few seconds before his muscles relaxed around the intrusion, then their quick snap close as his fingers withdrew, only to be roughly forced open again on Clark's next pass, as he repeated the motions mercilessly. Bruce was openly moaning now, his fingers flexing helplessly where Clark had pinned his hands, his body shuddering with forced pleasure as he was breached over and over again, for just the briefest second of pressure before being left empty.

"Tell me what you want, Bruce," Clark repeated, when Bruce's muscles no longer resisted but were soft and pliant beneath his fingers, until Bruce opened for him without pause, his throat bared and his eyes closed tight against the insistence of Clark's will, his hands. Sweat beaded at his forehead and the muscles of his legs twitched where they were locked around Clark, and something dark unfurled its wings in the pit of the Kryptonian's belly, looking down at the wrecked, beautiful form of his best friend.

"I—," Bruce said, his voice unsteady for once, broken and thick with desire. "You, Kal, give me you, inside me, God, deeper and _more_."

He trailed off as Clark hitched his legs higher with slick fingers, hooking his knees over broad shoulders and leaning forward so that Bruce was folded nearly in half, open and hot and shameless for him, the lines of his face so clear in pleasure that Clark wanted to keep the memory of this moment wrapped up in his chest, even as his hips moved to touch his hard, aching cock to Bruce's body, lightly, teasing.

Bruce moaned, pushing his hips downwards as Clark pushed forwards, taking his thickness with a strangled sound that sent the blood rushing through Clark's veins in a torrent of sticky hot lust. Bruce took him in one long, sinuous slide of his hips, the arch of his spine graceful even as he panted breaths that heated the side of Clark's throat, until they were fully connected, so close together nothing on Earth could have forced them apart.

"_Kal_," Bruce breathed, like a benediction, so soft it was almost nonexistent. And Clark, as he always did, as he always _would_, gave him what he wanted, drawing back slowly before thrusting deep and hard, the clasp of Bruce's body hot and tight and infinitely perfect around him. They moved together flawlessly, like they had spent lifetimes perfecting the dirty slick movement of invasion and submission, Bruce pushing himself further onto Clark with every pass, trying to take him deeper and deeper even though Clark felt as though they couldn't possibly be any closer together, as if he lived under Bruce's skin, as if they shared the pulse of a single heart.

Bruce was making a low, keening noise that shot straight to Clark's cock, his face more open than it had ever been, high cheekbones shaded red and swollen mouth parted to gasp for air, his eyes so dark and liquid Clark couldn't tear his gaze away, watching the play of emotion on Bruce's face as he was impaled over and over again, disheveled and impossibly gorgeous.

"_More_," Bruce said, straining to meet Clark's face, until Clark bent to give Bruce his mouth, tasting the edge of desperation in the way Bruce bit at his lips, trying to make him move harder, faster, _more_.

Clark relented, eventually, after keeping Bruce on edge for long, endless minutes. He shifted his shoulders, hitching Bruce's legs even higher, changing the angle until he was so deep Bruce let out a hoarse shout, his face tight with the perfect edge of agony. Clark shuddered, feeling Bruce's body spasming around his cock, trying to adjust to the tight penetration, stretched to his limits even as the movement of his hips begged for more. Bruce's cock was trapped against Clark's stomach, hot as a brand and pulsing wetness, and Clark knew that he was right on the precipice, ready to throw himself into the abyss in an explosion of color.

"More," Clark agreed, moving one hand to the curve of Bruce's ass, letting one finger trace the tight, stretched muscle of his entrance, where they were joined. Bruce moaned, eyes slipping shut, his entire face tensed, so tired from the endless bouts of pleasure and pain that he could do nothing but shiver, as Clark stroked slowly, exerting the slightest pressure.

Suddenly, his eyes sprang open, wild and desperate, as one finger pushed in beside Clark's cock, stretching him so far the painful pressure was almost too much to bear, even as his own cock jumped against Clark's hard stomach.

"_Ah—_," Bruce said, his voice breaking off as Clark gave a slick thrust, his throat working as he tried to swallow past the thick lust. "Kal, please, Kal, I can't—I can't, no more."

"You will take what I give you," Clark said, his voice guttural and rough as he licked up the sweat that dripped down the side of Bruce's face, tasting the salty sweet skin. He gave another long thrust, harshly snapping his hips against tender flesh, ensuring his finger pressed continuously against Bruce's prostate.

And so Bruce took it, mindless with the need to come, agony and lust and submission and triumph mixing together in the hoarse shouts that left his throat, as he shoved himself against Clark's every thrust, felt Clark's finger torture him with an overload of sensation even as his mouth swallowed his cries, urging him onwards towards completion.

His climax nearly blindsided him when it came, white hot and agonizingly perfect, his body clamping down so hard around Clark's that he barely noticed the flood of heat that followed his lover's orgasm, the way teeth clenched on the bruised flesh of his shoulder. He drowned beneath the waves, letting them wash over him in endless slides of heat, until, exhausted, he slumped down against the bed and opened bleary eyes to see Clark's gaze upon him, midnight soft, like a balm that soothed his weary body and his tired soul.

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**Author's Note:** Whew, okay. Dirty PWP, I admit it, but it was such fun to write, especially for my first foray into the DCU. Will possibly have a sequel, wherein Clark submits to Bruce.

Please feel free to leave a review if you have comments/questions/rants ;)

Crossposted to Fanfiction, AO3, LiveJournal.


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